


Sweet dreams

by acheforhim



Category: Black Mirror (TV), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AI Hannibal, Don't copy to another site, Dream Therapy, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Set in the Black Mirror universe, Two Hannibals a.k.a. the legal definition of double trouble, sci-fi ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 12:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheforhim/pseuds/acheforhim
Summary: Tortured by nightmares, Will Graham gets a Nocturnal Companion – an AI who will share and moderate his dreams, and hopefully grant him some relief.(You already know whose digital clone the AI matches him with.)





	Sweet dreams

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the reel_hannibal mods for making this fest happen!
> 
> An important note regarding what you should expect of this fic: I had some trouble finishing this story, and it took me a bit to realise it was because I didn’t want to finish it – at least not in the way I’d originally planned. I’ve been enjoying writing stories that are more a glimpse into an interesting character/situation without necessarily turning into a lengthy, plot-heavy story. If you read the dead over the living (my fic where Mischa is a ghost), you might recall the ending was very much not typical and sort of left open. This is more or less what I did here, too.
> 
> TL;DR: This is a finished story, but the ending might be unsatisfying for some readers. I realize that’s not exactly good advertisement to put in the notes, but I don’t want anyone to be disappointed/frustrated by it.
> 
> If you’re still curious enough to read it, I hope you enjoy!

Alana’s office at TCKR is entirely too white. It makes Will’s eyes hurt to look at.

“No more nightmares, Will,” she says, and Will wants to bristle at her. As if she’s not just doing her job. As if she’s not offering him exactly the thing he sought her out for.

“All I need to give in return free access to my brain,” he says wryly.

She smiles a little. “I know that’s a concern for you. I can assure you that we can gather none of your data without your consent. The Experiencer Disk will be connected to you and no one else.”

“It’ll be connected to my tablet. Which you have access to.”

“Not if it’s offline.”

“And if I went online on accident? Just for a minute? It won’t send a report immediately?”

“You do realize how paranoid you sound,” Alana says, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Will replies calmly.

“We haven’t made it a habit to breach our contracts and collect data without prior consent.” It doesn’t escape him she’s already speaking as part of the company, even though she joined it relatively recently.

She sighs. “I can sit here and try to convince you all day. At the end of it, you either want a restful sleep or you don’t. You decide, Will,” she says, promptly ending the conversation. She pushes the little case housing the Disk his way over her comically large desk and directs her attention to her computer screen.

The Disk is a round little device, about as big as is thumbnail. It looks simple, plain in its gray color. He’s seen ones like it before, of course he has; they’re the most popular way to immerse yourself in a virtual reality these days. He’s never tried them for himself, but people use them all the time – mostly for entertainment, but he knows there’s also apps that let you have a conversation as if you were in the same room as the other person.

And then there’s this one – an app that moderates your dreams by letting you have conversations with an AI in a person suit.

Will stares at the case for almost a full minute before he takes it in his hand.

“You can always just try it out, you know,” Alana says, voice softer. “Use it for a week, then return it and get your money back.”

“Like I’d give you a whole week’s worth of data on me and my nightly activities,” he says, but his tone makes it clear he’s joking this time. She rolls her eyes at him. “Either this works or I crush it to dust.”

“You have the right to waste your money however you like, Will” she says. “Go away, now. I have a bunch of clients who are actually excited to get my help waiting outside.”

“Sure you do,” he says, but he does get up and head for the door leading out of her pristine office.

“Hey, Will?” she calls out after him, and he turns to look at her. “I do hope it works for you.” The kindness in her eyes makes him uncomfortable. “You deserve to rest.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs and leaves.

*

That night, he puts the Disk on his bedside table and proceeds to stare at it for five minutes. He takes it in his hand. Puts it back down. Goes to brush his teeth. Changes into his pajamas. Takes it again. Doesn’t put it on.

“This is stupid,” he murmurs. Winston whines in question. Will reaches for him and pets him when he obediently gets closer. “Just talking to myself, buddy,” he says. He eyes the Disk again. “Say, if I actually have a restful sleep and don’t wake up freaking out for once, will you get worried and try to wake me up yourself?” Winston tilts his head and looks at him, uncomprehending. Will wonders if they’ll figure out a way for dogs and humans to communicate with language one of these days.

He certainly hopes they don’t.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he says, and then he takes the Disk out of its case.

He takes a deep breath as he holds the small computer to his temple.

He closes his eyes and presses it to his skin where it gently attaches itself.

His brain doesn’t explode.

He lets out the breath and rubs his eyes. “This is stupid,” he says again, but he takes his tablet from the bedside table and boots it up. It detects the device currently latching onto his brain over his skull and notifies him that he should configure his settings.

He makes sure that it’s not connected to the internet and does just that.

It starts out simple enough – asking him his name, age and gender. He puts them in, knowing there’s no use trying to hide those, anyway. A whole bunch of other information is required of him afterwards – his job, habits, likes, dislikes, interests – and he’s painfully reminded of dating apps. He pauses midway through putting in his favorite ice cream flavor as he realizes that that’s probably the point.

All he wants from his Nocturnal Companion is conversation. Company. A reprieve from the nightmares that make him feel unsafe in his own home.

He imagines other people have… Other uses for the AI of their dreams.

He puts in the last few answers and the app congratulates him on his being able to type inane bullshit into a survey.

_You’re all done!_

_Your Companion will be waiting for you tonight._

_Sweet dreams!_

“We’ll see about that,” Will says, and finally lies down.

*

When he starts dreaming, he realizes it immediately. There’s none of the usual deceptive familiarity that his nightmares usually start off with. None of the too-sweet reality.

He’s not awake. This isn’t real. It’s comforting to know it.

He finds himself in a spacious hallway, dark but not uninviting. He can’t make out the pattern on the red wallpaper, but he’s not too interested in it, anyway. All he sees is the big wooden door at the end of the hallway, so he walks towards it.

When he reaches it, he knocks. It’s only polite.

“Please, come in,” a warm voice invites him. Will complies.

The open door reveals a room not unlike an office, opulently—and eccentrically—decorated. It speaks of very particular taste and no small amount of wealth. He doesn’t have time to look at all of it before he notices the figure behind the desk.

There sits a man, probably in his forties, with dark eyes and lighter hair. He wears a black robe, a white shirt peeking underneath, and Will almost feels like he’s intruding on him on his evening’s rest. Which is ridiculous. They’re in his fucking head. If anything, it’s the man that’s intruding—except that Will invited him in. He paid for his company.

“Hello, Will,” the man says with a smile and leans his elbows on his desk. “It’s very good to meet you.”

“You, too,” Will manages to say. The man stretches a hand towards one of the armchairs a few feet from Will and it slides closer to him, prompting him to sit at a comfortable distance from the man. “Handy, that.” He looks down at himself and realizes he’s in the shorts and t-shirt he went to bed in. Maybe the man is underdressed to make him feel less awkward.

The man’s smile grows. “Indeed,” he says. “I take it this is the first time you’re using a Nocturnal Companion?”

Will nods. “Not too fond of having other people in my head.”

“Am I people, Will?”

Will arches an eyebrow. “Straight to the million merits question, huh?” He reaches for his brow, but of course he doesn’t feel the Disk there. “How does this work, anyway? I always thought VR was way too agitating to engage in while asleep. Have you waking up all the time.”

“That used to be the case,” the man says. “It can still be too much. That is why TCKR only offers Nocturnal Companions with this technology and not video games. There are plenty of those to enjoy while you’re awake.” He tilts his head to the side. “Well, maybe not you. I imagine you indulge in different hobbies.”

Will huffs. “You have all the info I filled in, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“So you know me a lot better than I know you.”

“We have all night to catch up.”

“Not if I wake up in the middle of it.”

“You won’t,” the man says, quietly confident. “I can keep you occupied well enough to give you an interrupted rest.”

“You think you’re that interesting?”

The man smirks a little. “I must be sufficiently interesting for you. The AI that chose me for you is much more elegant than you or I. It knows what it’s doing.”

Will huffs. “What’s your name?”

“Hannibal.”

Will arches an eyebrow. “That’s interesting.”

“So I’ve heard,” Hannibal says.

“It’s your real name, then?” he asks. The AI must be speaking from the real Hannibal’s memory – it wouldn’t have data on other NC clients and their reactions to him, even if they have shared his company in their own heads.

“It is.” Hannibal props his chin on his hand and smiles at him. “You’re surprised that I would use my real name in here.”

“Aren’t you scared of stalkers?” Will asks. “Someone who gets a little too fond of their Companion and seeks out the physical you?”

“You have no way of knowing if I’m still alive,” Hannibal points out. “This version of me could be years, even decades old, stored in a database before they found this use for it.”

Will’s face scrunches up. “A little morbid.”

“Forgive me,” Hannibal says. “I am aware that those are the kinds of dreams you were trying to escape by inviting me in. We could go somewhere else if you don’t find this environment relaxing enough,” he adds, gaze sweeping over the office.

“No, this is nice,” Will says. “It’s weirdly cozy.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Hannibal says with a small smile. “I should also let you know that conversation isn’t all I’m good for.” Will smiles a little at that, and Hannibal returns it. “Not what I meant, though of course—”

“I won’t be requesting that of you,” Will assures him, and Hannibal just nods at that.

“What I meant,” he continues, “is that I could play the piano for you, if you want. Or introduce some ambient noise to your dreams and leave you be if you tire of conversation. I can also draw something for you, if watching that would relax you. I could cook you a nice meal.”

Will considers all of that. He wonders if Hannibal could do all of that in real life, or if it was all programmed into this version of him.

“Can you sing?” is all he asks.

“Not particularly well, no.”

“I can. Kind of.”

“Maybe you will sing for me,” Hannibal says, voice warm and inviting.

Will huffs. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”

“When you’re around I will, yes.”

Will pauses. “So you will sleep while I’m awake?”

“In a sense, yes. It’s more that I stop existing when your device isn’t on. I do feel the need to sleep, a mechanism to signal when the night is ending and I need to rest—when your Disk needs to recharge. That is when you will wake.”

“What if I want to sleep until noon?”

“I will disappear regardless.”

“That would probably startle me into waking.”

“Probably,” Hannibal agrees. “It’s an elegant system, don’t you think?”

It really is. Will imagines lots of people would rather keep themselves asleep, in the company of someone friendly, instead of going out and facing the challenges of the day. Literally sleeping their life away. Keeping their Companions away from them until evening would make the idea of sleeping all day a lot less attractive, encourage them to stay awake.

Instead of saying all of that, he just shrugs. “I’ve had worse alarm clocks.”

Hannibal smiles, but doesn’t say anything. Will looks away. “I’m not good with people,” he blurts out. “I’ll probably say something offend you, intentionally or not.”

“I do hope I don’t give you many reasons to do it intentionally.”

“So do I,” Will says, and they smile at each other. “Can you leave here? If you’re not enjoying my company?”

“I can tell the software that a different Companion would be more suitable for you and eliminate myself as a choice, yes.”

“Good.”

Hannibal tilts his head to the side. “Are you that worried that I’ll find you rude?”

Will shrugs. “I don’t know. This is weird enough, bringing you inside my head. I won’t presume to know how you feel, but I guess I’d feel sort of trapped in your situation. I’d rather be sure that I’m not forcing you into spending time with me. I’m not always pleasant to be around.”

“If it makes you feel better, I have very thick skin.”

Will hums. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a psychiatrist.”

Will huffs. “Of course you are,” he says, but then he looks away again.

“You told me that you don’t like people in your head, Will. I know that you meant to offence by the comment,” Hannibal assures him. “If you have really offended me, you will know.”

“Okay,” Will says. “Okay.”

“What would you like us to do tonight?” Hannibal asks after a brief silence.

He doesn’t make it sound quite suggestive, but there is a flirtatious gleam in his eye that makes Will’s cheeks feel warm. “I just wanna talk, if that’s okay,” he says. “No psychoanalyzing, though,” he warns.

“It’s a pity to avoid trying it out in a setting such as this,” Hannibal says. “Psychologists have broken down our dreams for centuries.”

“You won’t be able to share your observations with anyone, so there wouldn’t be much point in doing it,” Will says, and then immediately realizes he’s once again referred to Hannibal’s… complicated existence. He imagines the man wouldn’t have cloned himself in such a way if he minded, but still. It was the physical Hannibal who had made that decision. Will doesn’t imagine anyone thought to ask how this Hannibal feels about his situation.

Will isn’t sure if he wants to be the first.

“You are right, of course,” Hannibal says. “And moderated dreams maybe would not lead to generalizations applicable to many,” he adds, as if to assure Will that he’s going to drop it. “Simple conversation it is, then.”

None of this is simple to Will. Still, he nods, and settles in.

***

To Will’s dismay, the damn thing actually works.

He’s been using the Disk for weeks now, and he’s come to actually anticipate going to bed instead of dreading it. It’s become sort of a routine, walking up to Hannibal’s office and waiting for his invitation before he settles in and they talk the night away.

It’s been a long time since he’s met someone new who’s intrigued him so much. He hasn’t let himself open up to someone in years, and he hadn’t even realized that it was something he’d been missing.

There’s a lot of things he’s been missing.

Hannibal does not exactly openly flirt with him, but he doesn’t quite hide his interest, either. He is always warm and inviting and as much as it makes Will flush with pleasure, it makes him feel guilty, too. He knows that if Hannibal wanted to escape his company he could, but what does that matter when he’ll be trapped on the Disk, anyway? He chooses Will now, but would he do it if he had the chance to inhabit a body of his own and walk among the living instead?

Will can’t bring himself to ask. He doesn’t know if Hannibal would even know the answer. He clearly has the memories of his physical self up to the point of the scan– he is educated, personable, well-spoken. His demeanor speaks of a worldly man, not of an AI set to imitate one. But does he remember what it’s like to be flesh and blood? Does he still feel alive, the way he is now? If not, is he at peace with who he is?

So, yes, the damn thing works to make his nights easier. His waking hours are made a bit more restless with all these thoughts running through his head, but fortunately he is busy enough to have very little time for idle thinking. Between teaching and cases and Winston and Hannibal, his brain is sufficiently occupied at all times.

Besides the bi-weekly existential crises that have him sleep without the Disk because he feels too conflicted to face Hannibal, he’s doing pretty alright.

If he notices these absences, Hannibal doesn’t let on. He’s told Will that he blinks in and out of existence along with Will’s dreams, but Will doesn’t know if he has some sort of clock built in that lets him know how long it has been since the Disk has been activated. He probably does. It would only be useful to his programming to know how often his services are required.

It does make Will wonder – are there others who use it every single night? Or do they only use it every once in a while? Is he supposed to move on from the service after a while? Is it meant to be addicting?

“You seem troubled, Will.”

Will blinks and refocuses on Hannibal. They’re sitting in opposing arm chairs, Hannibal’s legs crossed and his hands folded over his knee.

“Sorry,” Will mumbles. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

Will sighs. “You have been…” _useful. _“Helpful,” he says.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Hannibal asks, tilting his head to the side.

“No,” Will replies. “Well, maybe.” Hannibal just looks at him, waiting for him to continue. “I don’t know how… Normal this is,” he says, gesturing between the two of them. “I don’t know if I should be seeing you this often.”

“If you ask the people who made me, then seeing me every night would be best,” Hannibal says. “I wouldn’t disagree.”

“Because it gives you a chance to live?”

“Because it gives me a chance to see you,” Hannibal says. “I do not feel your absences, Will. The lack of your visits does not affect me in any way.” He does not _as you should know already, _but Will hears it in his tone. “But that does not stop me from being able to enjoy your company immensely.”

“You’re not getting bored of all this conversation?”

“Are you suggesting we do something else?” Hannibal asks. He doesn’t wink, but Will feels it’s a near thing.

He resists rolling his eyes. “Maybe,” he says. “Is there anything you wanna do?”

“I have told you what I’m good at. Do you need a reminder?”

“Not what I asked,” Will asks. He wonders for a moment. “We could cook something.”

“We certainly could,” Hannibal says, and gets up from his chair.

The room around them shifts and Will finds himself inside a sleek, modern kitchen, sitting in the same arm chair in the corner of it. He gets up and the chair dissipates, replaced by a big potted plant. He moves slowly towards Hannibal, who is already peering inside a well-stocked fridge with a smile.

“How long has it been since you cooked?”

“Assuming your device is brand new, I have never cooked in my life,” Hannibal replies without looking at him.

Right.

“Is there a way to make it so that you’re conscious when I’m not around?” Will asks.

Hannibal frowns and turns to him, closing the door of the fridge. “Why?”

Will shrugs. “I don’t know. So you could have some time away from me. Time alone,” he amends when Hannibal’s frown deepens at his words. “It doesn’t sit right with me that you can only do things when I’m around.”

“What do you imagine me doing when you’re not around?”

“I don’t know. Cooking, playing music, reading, writing?” Will regrets bringing it up more and more by the second. “Whatever you want. Just have some time for yourself.”

“I don’t think I would like that very much.”

“Why not?”

“I am a social creature, Will,” he says with a small smile. “I do enjoy being by myself, yes, but you are one of those rare people who are not exhausting to be around.”

Will huffs a laugh at that. “Still. If there is an alternative… You can moderate my dreams, can you make… other people?”

“Make myself some friends to play with?” Hannibal says, and his tone is uncharacteristically cold. Will opens his mouth to reply, but Hannibal doesn’t let him. “If you find some fault with me, you could easily replace me, Will, you know that.”

“What? No!” Will says, and before he can stop himself he’s taken a couple of steps to bring himself right next to Hannibal. “Of course not,” he says quietly. He places a hand on Hannibal’s arm. “I just want what’s best for you.”

Hannibal hesitates, his gaze falling on Will’s hand. Will makes to retract it, but Hannibal covers it with his own before he goes too far.

“Let us be, then,” Hannibal says. “Stop questioning this.”

Will chuckles a little. “That’s not a small thing to ask, Hannibal. Every time I see you, I have to think about your existence.”

“And every moment I spend with you, I don’t have to think about it,” Hannibal says.

They’re both silent for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. Will swallows.

“Okay,” he says in the end. “Okay.”

Hannibal finally smiles again and squeezes his hand before he steps away.

***

The first time Will sees Hannibal in the physical world, he thinks he must be dreaming for a second. He’s staring, he knows he is, trying to assess whether this is really him, or just someone who looks remarkably like him. Sure enough, when the man offers to shake his hand, Will already knows his voice, knows the way his touch feels on Will’s skin.

“Hannibal Lecter,” he says, and Will nods.

“I know,” he says, like a jackass, and Hannibal’s eyebrows rise. Will knows what that expression on his face already – pleasant surprise. He’s seen it in response to his _delightfully unpopular _opinions on art, as Hannibal called them once. It’s—it’s fucked that Will knows him so well already and Hannibal has no idea who Will is.

“Play nice, Will,” Jack warns him, and Will jerks away from his thoughts. Jack. Yes. He invited Hannibal over because they need his help with the Shrike case. Right.

“Graham,” Will says. “Will Graham.”

“I know,” Hannibal says, eyes crinkling with his smile. Will realizes his meaning and huffs. Of course Hannibal researched him – he’s _popular _with psychiatrists. It’s irritating, but it’s also, weirdly, somewhat a relief, that Hannibal knows at least _something _about him, however biased his source might have been.

The thought gives Will pause. This Hannibal looks no more than a decade older than his image in the Companion database. When did Hannibal read about him? Did he do it recently, anticipating their meeting? Did he do it years ago, before he did the scan? Did his Hannibal pretend not to know about him when they first met in order to get Will to trust him?

If the answer is yes, Will isn’t sure if he’s pissed off or grateful for that choice. On the one hand, he doesn’t appreciate being manipulated, but on the other… He’s been getting better sleep than he has in years since he started… _seeing_ Hannibal.

Maybe that’s worth getting a little manipulated. He certainly doesn’t miss being exhausted and half out of his mind all the time.

“Do you two know each other?” Jack asks.

_I’ve seen him in his fancy silk pajamas, _Will thinks. Outwardly, he shrugs. “Aware of each other, I guess,” he says, and sees Hannibal nod out of the corner of his eye as they take their seats in front of Jack’s desk. “Didn’t expect to ever work with him.” At least that part is true. Ever since that first night, when dream Hannibal suggested the real Hannibal might be dead, Will assumed that was the truth. He didn’t want to check if that was the case precisely because it would fuck him up to think about a real person walking around while he met up with another version of them every night.

Funny how that worked out.

“Neither did I,” Hannibal says. “Though I assure you, I was not uninterested.”

“Oh, I know,” Will mutters. Jack gives him a warning glance. “I trust you’ll be able to refrain from analyzing me instead of our killer while we’re working this case, Doctor Lecter.”

“Of course,” Hannibal utters, but his eyes are saying that he will do no such thing. Will is startled to feel a pang of fondness for him, more willing to roll his eyes at Hannibal’s antics rather than be pissed at his very obvious intentions to step all over Will’s boundaries.

This might prove to be problematic.

“I do hope that you’ll be able to forgive me if I slip, Will,” Hannibal adds.

“Very mature of you to admit you’ll fail at keeping things professional before we’ve even started working together.”

“I am aware of my faults, as I am sure you’re aware of your own,” Hannibal says with an almost imperceptible shrug. “I believe we’ll be able to keep them from coming between us.” _You’re not wrong. _“Who knows, we might even become friendly.”

Will huffs. “One step at a time, Doctor,” he says, and finally turns to Jack so that they can actually start working.

***

“Would you say that we are friends?” Will asks that night, because of course he does.

Hannibal swirls his wine around before he takes a sip. “It would not be an overstatement to say that you’re my entire life,” he says with a little smile.

Will blinks at those words. They’re technically true, he knows they are. Hannibal does not live a second without him. At least this version of him.

“So yes,” Hannibal continues while Will processes his words. “I like to think we’ve become friends.”

Will nods. “I don’t wanna lie to you. Or hide something from you, rather.”

“You don’t owe me your secrets, Will,” Hannibal says. “And there would be no real repercussions if you lied to me.”

Will frowns. “Is that why you did this?” he asks, gesturing at Hannibal’s form. “To escape the consequences of your actions?”

Hannibal gives him a contemplative look. “It was vanity, mostly,” he admits unexpectedly. “I could not pass up on the opportunity to live forever, in whatever form.”

Will nods. “I can understand that.”

“But you don’t want it for yourself?”

“Hell, no,” Will says with a chuckle. “One life is more than enough for me.”

Hannibal hums. They’re quiet for a long minute, and not for the first time Will wonders how that’s never awkward between them.

“You wanted to share something with me?” Hannibal reminds him. “On account of our friendship.”

“Yeah,” Will says. He hasn’t forgotten. He sighs. “I met you today. Out there.”

“Oh,” Hannibal says. “I see.” He leans back in his chair and stares at his desk for a moment before he raises his gaze to meet Will’s. “How am I doing?”

“Very well for yourself, it seemed,” Will says. He has no idea if that’s reassuring or if it will trigger envy. Hannibal’s face doesn’t give anything away. “You’re still a respected psychiatrist.”

“How did we meet?”

“At work,” Will says. “My work. My boss requested your help for a case. I think he might have implied that I was the case.”

Hannibal frowns. “You are perfectly sane.”

Not the reaction of someone who’s read Chilton’s notes on Will. Probably didn’t read about him before, then.

Will chuckles. “That’s certainly up for debate.”

Hannibal frowns some more, but he doesn’t speak again for a while. It makes Will squirm in his seat.

“I won’t speak of it again,” he says quietly. “If it makes you uncomfortable.”

Hannibal shakes his head. “These are your dreams, Will. We can talk about whatever you want to.”

“Still. I’d like this time to be pleasant for both of us.”

Hannibal smirks a little. “We can certainly achieve that,” he says, voice low, and Will laughs.

“You’re shameless,” he says, and Hannibal shrugs.

“No repercussions,” he says. “No body to stop me.”

Will grins at his pun, and he’s about to reply when he sees Hannibal blink a little slower than usual. He stifles a yawn and blinks a few times in quick succession, but the heaviness doesn’t leave his eyelids. Morning must be near.

“Do I have to leave you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Hannibal says. “You must face the day without me.” His small smile disappears. “Or maybe you won’t.” Will does expect to meet Hannibal on his search for clues. “Whatever the case, I’ll be waiting for you tonight.”

“See you then,” Will says and gets up to walk to the door.

“Will?” Hannibal calls out. Will turns back. “Be careful with him.”

Will frowns. “With you?”

Hannibal nods. “You are… endlessly fascinating to me. Which means you’ll be fascinating to him.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Will asks.

“When it comes to him, yes.”

Will thinks that over. The study is starting to fade as he comes closer to waking. “But not when it comes to you?”

Hannibal shrugs. “No body to hurt you,” he says, and Will wakes up.

He blinks up at the ceiling.

_Who the fuck is Hannibal?_

***

Hannibal is someone who brings him home-made food in his motel room, it turns out.

Will tries to keep up the conversation with him, but it proves to be a challenge when he’s inherently suspicious of every single gesture of Hannibal’s. Hannibal probably notices the scrutiny, so breakfast quickly turns into a quiet dance of I-know-you-know-I-know. Except Will doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, and Hannibal doesn’t know what Will knows that he doesn’t know.

It’s ridiculous.

When Will finally loses his patience for it, he leans back and gives Hannibal an evaluative look.

Before Hannibal can question it, Will says, “You’re my Nocturnal Companion.”

Hannibal blinks. “Oh,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

Will swallows. “How does that make you feel?” he can’t help asking. He bites his lip against a grin when Hannibal levels him with a familiar look. It’s not quite as annoyed as dream Hannibal lets himself be with him, but it’s close.

“Uncharacteristically vulnerable,” Hannibal replies in the end. He takes a bite of his food before he speaks again. “How long have you been seeing me?”

“Almost every night for a couple of months.”

Will is not sure he likes the way Hannibal pauses at that, visibly considering the implications.

“You’re happy with my services, then?” he asks.

“I guess,” Will says, and Hannibal hums.

“I didn’t imagine you’d be so open to therapy. I’m glad I was able to get through to you, and help you in some way.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m seeing you for therapy?”

Hannibal meets his gaze. “I was told they’d only assign me to people who would need my help,” he says carefully. “Did you get a Disk to get rid of nightmares?”

“Yeah,” Will says carefully.

“Then the AI must have assumed there was a reason for these nightmares,” Hannibal says with a little shrug. “It paired you up with me because it thought you’d talk them over in the privacy of your own mind.”

“We haven’t really discussed them,” Will says, almost defensively, unwilling to talk about them now.

“What do we talk about, then?”

“I don’t know,” Will says. “Everything? About my days. My work. My dog. About art. Just random things to fill the time. You cook for me sometimes.” He hesitates before he adds, “You said that we were friends.”

“Would _you _say that we are friends?”

Will hesitates. “He is my friend,” he says. “I don’t know about you, yet.”

“Yet? You think there’s a chance you and I will get that close after all?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. This isn’t exactly fair to you. I know a lot more about you than you do about me. And I could let you get to know me, sure, but I – I don’t know how to navigate this, knowing both him and you. I don’t think I can just—stop seeing him.”

Hannibal looks at him for a long moment. “Are you and he…?”

“No,” _though I’ve nearly kissed him seven times._ “Not for his lack of trying. You’re a lot smoother when you don’t have corporeality to hold you back.”

Hannibal gives a surprised laugh. “I assure you, corporeality would never get in the way of me expressing my admiration for you,” he says in that flirtatious tone that Will knows so well.

“Don’t do that,” he says gently. “You’ve known me a day, you can’t flirt with me like that.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

“We’re in the middle of a murder case investigation, for one.”

Hannibal shrugs. “We’re not on the clock, yet.”

“I’m in an almost-relationship with another version of you.”

“You can be in a full relationship with this version of me.”

“You have known me _a day,_” Will says again, though he can’t stop the smile from breaking over his lips.

“A version of me who has known you for months has decided that you’re good for me.”

“A version of you who doesn’t live in the real world and therefore never talks to anyone else.”

“Will,” Hannibal says and reaches to place his hand over Will’s. “If we were in a room full of people, I assure you that I’d only have eyes for you.”

“Lies,” Will says. “You’re a better host—or better company than that.”

Hannibal laughs again. “You’re right. That I am.” He retracts his hand so he can finish his food. “Think about it, Will,” he says, well aware they have to wrap it up soon if they want to get anything done today. “We could be good for each other.”

_Or very, very bad._

Will hasn’t forgotten that _his _Hannibal warned him about this one, clearly implied that he’s dangerous. He’s probably stupid to think of getting involved with him; there’s clearly a whole other mess that awaits him, something that would rival the inherent awkwardness of trying to keep up a relationships with two versions of the same person.

“To friendship, then,” he says, saluting Hannibal with his coffee mug. “And all its consequences.”

The smile Hannibal gives him makes his eyes crinkle.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/mordrecl)


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